


You should see the things we do

by Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Roommates, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/pseuds/Ever-so-reylo
Summary: “Maybe Ben will come home from his business trip and bend me over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck me hard and fast.”In which they are roommates, and they hate each other until they don't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveofEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveofEscapism/gifts).



> This is my entry for the Summer fic exchange, for the truly lovely and wonderful [LoveofEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveofEscapism/pseuds/LoveofEscapism). Thank you so much to [midnightbluefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightbluefox/pseuds/midnightbluefox) for organizing the exchange and being super helpful, and to [shmisolo](https://shmisolo.tumblr.com/) for being generally amazing and for beta reading this fic. She is currently writing two fics that I'm obsessed with, [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315285/chapters/35532807) and [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380136/chapters/35691879), and believe me, you want to be reading those! 
> 
> PS: I'll have the whole fic up by Sunday night, so if you want to read this but not as a WIP just come back in two days!

She’s not drunk, or anywhere near that.

She hits the keyhole on her first attempt, manages to stand on one foot and take off her boots without leaning against the wall, and even remembers to turn off the porch light—which is very unlike her, and possibly a sign that all that disgusting chia seed sludge Ben’s been harassing her into guzzling down is actually making her brain smarter.

She’s not drunk, but maybe a little buzzed—two beers on an empty stomach worth of buzzed. Then again, maybe she’s off her tits, because for some inexplicable reason she notices the pile of dishes sticking out of the sink and is struck by the thought that cleaning the kitchen could actually be a fun activity. When Ben enters the room, Rey is riding the unexpected urge to load the dishwasher as far as it will carry her.

“I know that this looks like I’m only now washing Wednesday’s breakfast dishes. And Tuesday’s. And... you know.” She beams at Ben, without really expecting him to smile back, because—Ben. Then goes back to rinsing a bowl. “But it’s just an optical illusion.”

He doesn’t answer. Which is fine, because—Ben. Rey’s looking around for a towel to dry her hands when she bumps into him.

“Oops.” He’s standing right behind her. “Sorry. Have you seen the—”

It all happens in three moments.

First, he crowds her against the sink, until the edge of the counter is digging into her hip bones. Rey is not sure what to think of it, but it’s likely the case that he lost his balance, or something equally unintentional and innocent and boring.

“Are you okay—”

Second, he nuzzles her hair. Right above her temple, with his nose and maybe even his lips, and it seems… deliberate. Very much not an accident. But… surely not. Impossible. 

_Is he—?_

_Could he be—?_

No. No, surely not.

Third, though. Third and last, his hands spread on her belly, and buzzed or not that’s what finally tips Rey off, because—

Yeah. She could be completely sloshed right now, and she would still know that  _this_ , this is different. This is not like those accidental brushing of arms in the hallway that Rey has been telling herself to stop fantasizing about, or like that time she tripped over her computer cord and almost stumbled into Ben's lap, or like him gently holding her wrist to check how badly she burned her thumb whilst cooking on the stove. _This,_ this is—

“Ben. What are you—”

“Shh.”

Something warm and liquid begins to coil at the bottom of Rey’s belly.

 

…

 

**Two years, three months earlier**

 

“Buy your own bloody creamer!”

“Maybe I will. Just as soon as you stop stealing my toilet paper.”

“Your—Ben, do you ever stop and  _hear_  yourself?”

“I can’t. Not over the sound of you listening to Taylor Swift  _full volume._ ”

“It was  _once_!”

“It was Taylor fucking Swift, Rey. It was one time too many.”

_Of all the assholes—_

“I swear to God.”  _Calm. Stay calm._ “I swear it, Ben. I’ve never in my whole lived with anyone as unpleasant as you.”

“That is so sad. Alexa, whose turn is it to take out the garbage?”

“ _Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is Rey’s turn._ ”

_In his sleep._

Rey swears to herself that she will kill him in his damn sleep.

 

…

 

“What are you—”

A warm, large hand leaves Rey’s tummy and climbs up; shifts her hair behind one shoulder to uncover the base of her neck.

Then—then, teeth are grazing at her skin.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” He is—he is  _kissing_  her. There. “You smell so good, Rey.”

 

…

 

**Two years, two months earlier**

 

“… And he doesn’t even drink coffee! Which means that he’s either flushing creamer down the toilet or chugging it down like it’s water—and I honestly don’t know which scenario would be worse, because on the one hand one serving has, like, six-hundred and forty calories and Ben still manages to only have three percent body fat, but on the other taking time out of your busy schedule to deprive  _me_  of  _my_  creamer is a gesture of unprecedented cruelty that no one should ever…”

Rey trails off when she notices Rose’s bemused expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

“No! Nope.” Rose shakes her head emphatically. Then looks down at her fries, and adds, ”I mean.”

“… You mean?”

“I mean, there’s nothing weird with the fact that you’ve been talking about this dude non-stop for—” Rose glances at her phone and lifts one eyebrow, “—fourteen minutes. Nothing at all.”

Rey feels her cheeks heat. “Sorry. I—”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love the British accent, twelve out of ten, would recommend. I could listen to you complain for fourteen more minutes. But I can’t help but wonder…”

“… But wonder?”

Rose scratches her temple. “Why exactly are you living with this guy in the first place?”

“It’s  _my_  house!” It comes out as a shriek, entirely too defensive. Rose startles, and Rey immediately regrets it. “Sorry. But—it  _is_  my house. Just as much as it’s his.”

“Wait. As in… You own it?”

Rey nods.

“Rey, you finished grad school, like… ten minutes ago? How does a grad student own a house—an actual  _house_ —in DC?”

Rey steals a fry from Rose’s plate, and ignores her wince of disgust as she dips it in her milkshake. “It’s… complicated.”

“Oh, I  _love_  complicated. Is it also dramatic? Should I get us tissues?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Oooh. Do tell.”

“My mentor—he left it to me when he passed away.”

Rose instantly sobers up. “Ah.”

“And Ben’s mother—my mentor’s sister, she left her half of it to Ben. Even though my understanding is that they weren’t even on talking terms. It’s a… weird family. Old money. Odd genes. There might be a curse involved. You know.”

“Yikes. Rich people.”

“Rose, you have no idea. So I moved in and… it’s a mess. He is just…  _impossible_ , to have around. And I think I’m reasonable.” Rey knows she is. She has been living in family homes since she was… yeah. Too young. She knows how to cohabitate with others—well, maybe not how to be  _together_  with others, but she at least knows how to exist under the same roof and minimize conflict.  _Live and let live_  is a crucial skill-set in any foster system. “I mean, I’m not the one who keeps lowering the damn thermostat to freezing, or who doesn’t bother turning off the lights before going out—our electricity bill is  _insane_ —or who leaves leftover sushi in the fridge for five weeks. Yes, I could have thrown it away, but I was trying to prove a point. And he could say ‘hi’ when he sees me, you know? Instead of just staring at me like I’m some kind of roach infesting his pristine living space and—” She notices Rose’s half amused, half sympathetic smile. “Doing it again, am I?”

“Oh, Rey.” Rose pats her hand. “Is he cute, at least?”

“Not at all. He looks like global warming and capitalism had a teenage love child who is going through a goth bodybuilding phase.”

“I kinda want to meet this guy. Can I come over?”

Rey sighs. “Sure.”

“Awesome. Okay, I know it’s your house, but have you considered just... moving elsewhere?”

“No. I mean, yes, but I can barely scrape by. I owe a billion in student loans, I’m not going to add rent I don’t even need to pay to it.”

“Fair. Couldn’t  _he_  move elsewhere, then? Is he barely above the poverty line, too?”

“Ha. No. He’s—he’s the worst, Rose. He’s the very worst. He’s a lobbyist. For First Order?” Just saying the words makes Rey want to gargle with mouthwash.

“Isn’t that fossil fuels people?”

“Yep.”

“Does he know you’re an environmental scientist?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t told him. But probably.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I know.”

“You can’t live with him.”

“I know.”

“He’ll kill you. You’ll kill him. You’ll kill each other!”

“I know!”

“Can’t  _he_  move out? I mean—don’t people like him live, like, in fifty-ninth floor apartments with marble countertops, usually?”

“That’s the thing—I honestly don’t get it. I mean, the house is really nice, but he probably makes the kind of money that can buy way better than nice.” The truth is, Rey can’t imagine that Ben doesn’t already  _own_  other properties. Families like his have got to have been investing in real estate since the Mesolithic.

“Why is he even staying?”

“I have no idea.” _Because he hates me. Because he wants to ruin my life. Because he likes to drink the tears of his enemies._  “It has to be so he can steal my creamer.”

“How do you even know he’s stealing it?”

“Oh.” Rey waves her hand dismissively. “I always know where all my food is and how much I have left. It’s a splinter skill of mine.”

“Useful. Okay, so: since he clearly shits money, couldn’t he just buy you out?”

“No.” Yes. He could. Easily. He has offered. Approximately ninety times. Mostly through lawyers. Rey could say yes, and she wouldn’t have to see Ben Fucking Solo ever again, and doesn’t that sound like a bright future. Except that— “The thing is, I don’t think Luke would have wanted me to sell the house. Otherwise, he’d have just left me a chunk of cash.”

Which, by the way, Rey could really,  _really_  use. But Luke wanted Rey to have this house, and—fine, then. She’s not going to let go of it.

This is Luke, after all. Being his usually asshole self, even from the afterlife.

“So… what, then? You just keep living with this dickhead?”

Rey takes a deep breath and buries her face in her arms.

“Fuck my life.”

 

…

 

Thank God for the kitchen sink. Thank God for something to hold on to, because her knees are about to give out on her.

“Ben? Ben, what…”

Thank God for his hands, too. Except that one has slid under her sweater and Rey is not small, but it covers her entire torso and its thumb—

It’s brushing against the underside of her breast, and—

_Oh._

Ben licks the pulse in the dip of her throat, and Rey is embarrassed to hear herself moan.

 

…

 

**One year, nine months earlier**

 

She dreams of a concert. A bad one. More noise than music—the kind of German crap from the Seventies that Ben will ask Alexa to play as he mixes his organic wheatgrass protein smoothies. It’s loud and obnoxious and irritating, and Rey feels a headache coming on, one that promises to last for  _weeks_. The dream goes on for what feels like minutes,  _hours_ , and then—Rey finally wakes up and realizes two things.

It’s the middle of the night.

And the sounds come from downstairs.

 _Burglars_ , she thinks.  _They have broken in. They probably have weapons, since they’re not even_ trying _to be quite._

Rey has to warn Ben immediately and—

Of course. Ben.

_Damn him to hell._

She flings herself out of bed before putting a thought together, stomping out of her room and towards the ruckus. Halfway down the stairs it occurs to her that she’s not wearing a bra, and that the shorts she has on were already too small for her fifteen years ago, when her middle school gave them to her free of charge as part of her football uniform.

_Well. Too damn bad._

Ben’s also going to have to deal with her ‘There Is No Planet B’ t-shirt. It might even teach him something.

“Do you know what time it is? What are you even—”

Rey’s not sure what she expected. Definitely not to find the contents of the fridge cluttering every inch of the kitchen counter; definitely not to see Ben intent on slaughtering a stalk of celery like it just murdered his family in cold blood; definitely not to see him naked, very naked, from the waist up.

And the plaid pajama bottoms he is wearing have a—low waist.

_So low._

“Isn’t there anything you can put on? Like a baby seal fur coat, or something?”

Ben doesn’t stop chopping his celery and looks up at her.

The very first time Rey met him—the day she moved in, not a week after Luke’s funeral and the reading of his will, neither of which Ben had seen fit to grace with his presence—the very first time Rey met Ben, it had taken less than a split-second look at him for one single thought to light up in her mind. 

 _Volatile_.

Luke had never talked much about his nephew, except a few slightly rambling and guilty-sounding half-sentences in the very end, something about having done wrong and needing to apologize. But Luke had always been somewhat coy when discussing his family, even contradictory at times, so that Rey hadn’t really known what to expect before meeting Ben. Oddly, her first impression of him, as he glared at her from entrance of  _their_  house, hadn’t been of the despicable, insufferable asshole she now knows him to be, but of someone… unpredictable. Someone trying desperately to hold on to  _something_.

Ben continues chopping his celery as he looks up at Rey, and she immediately knows that tonight, that  _something_  is very nearly out of reach.

“It’s my house. And I'm not cold. So, no.”

It’s Rey’s house, too. And she has every right not to have to look at that brickwall he calls a chest in her own kitchen, which is supposed to be a soothing environment where she can eat and digest food without having to stare at random nipples.  _Still_. She lets the matter go and pushes it to the back of her mind, mostly because by the time she’s ready to move out she is going to need therapy no matter what, and what’s one more trauma to deal with?

Right now, she just wants to sleep.

“What are you doing?”

“My tax return.”

“ _What_?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making dinner.”

“Really? Because it sounds like you’re just banging pans together.”

“The noise is an unofrtunate byproduct. Of making dinner.” Ben must be done with the celery, because he moves to slicing a tomato—Wait, is that  _her_  tomato?—and to ignoring Rey.

“Oh, and that’s totally normal, that I’ve seen you cook maybe three times in the past six months but you decided to make a five course meal at… One twenty-seven in the morning? On a weeknight?”

Ben lifts his eyes to hers, and it’s… disturbing. He looks calm. He  _seems_  calm, but somehow Rey knows that he’s not.

_Something must have happened. He’s in a terrible mood. Get out of here._

“Did you need anything, Rey?”

“Yes,  _Ben_ , I need you to keep it down.” Her self-preservation must still be asleep. “And that better not be my tomato.”

Ben pops half of it in his mouth. “You know,” he says while chewing, somehow managing to talk with his mouth full and still look his snobbish, aristocratic self. “Last week you and your boyfriend played Jenga for three hours straight after I came home jet lagged as fuck—”

“Finn and I were working. On a model. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“—so, no. I don’t think I’m going to keep it down. At least not until I’m done making food.”

Until about ten seconds ago Rey was angry, but in a cool, reasonable way. All of a sudden, she is ready to wrestle the knife out of Ben’s hand and slice his jugular.

Just a tiny bit.

She probably won’t do that, because—jail time, and also immediate deportation—but she is—she is  _not_  going to let this go.

She  _tried_ —for the sake of peace, she really tried to keep quiet and not to make a fuss when he laughed at her because she asked him to let her install solar panels, or when he threw away her broccoli because they ‘smelled like death’, or when he locked her out of the house while she was gone for a run.

But  _this_.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Ben pours some olive oil in a pan, cracks an egg in it, and does a great job of forgetting Rey exists.

She pinches her nose between index and forefinger, taking a deep breath. “Ben—Whether you like it or not, I. Live. Here. You can’t do what you want.”

“Interesting. You seem to be doing exactly that.”

“I—What are you talking about?  _You_  are making an omelette at  _two in the bloody morning_ , and  _I_  am asking you not to.”

“You know, if you had done  _any_  of your dishes this week maybe they wouldn’t have needed to be washed, and I would have been more quiet—”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you don’t leave your stuff around the house all the time.”

“I least I don’t stack garbage in trash can like it’s a Dadaist sculpture to avoid taking it out.”

“It happened  _once_! I was just trying to get out of the house and into work on time!”

“And I am just trying not to live like a total slob!”

The sound that comes out Rey’s mouth—it almost scares her. “ _God_. You are—you are  _impossible_  to have around!”

“That’s just too bad. Since I’m here.”

“Then just  _move the fuck out!_  Literally  _no one_ wants you here!”

Silence falls, after that.

A very absolute, and very heavy, and very, very uncomfortable silence. Just what they both need to replay Rey’s words over and over in their heads.

_Shit._

Then Ben speaks. Slowly. Carefully. Angry, but in a scary, icy way. “Excuse me?”

Rey—she regrets it. What she said. Not because she doesn’t wish Ben would move out—No, no, she regrets  _how_  she said it. How loud. The vehemence. She’s not—Rey is many things, but she’s not mean, she doesn’t think, and it doesn’t matter that Ben Solo surely has the emotional range of a walnut. She said something hurtful and she owes him an apology. Not that she wants to offer him one, but. The problem is that stupidly, incongruously, insanely, all her brain can think of right now is that—

Ben is, in fact, extremely attractive.

It’s such an odd, untimely realization to have, that for a second Rey wonders if she’s in a dream state of sort. Maybe she never woke up. Maybe she’s still in bed. Maybe she’s just imagining this whole argument. And maybe that’s why she just can’t stop herself from continuing.

“I don’t... Why are you even here? People like you live in mansions with uncomfortable beige furniture and seven bathrooms and overpriced art they don't even understand!”

“People like  _me_?”

“Yes. People like  _you_. People with zero morals and way too much money—”

“Why are  _you_  here? I’ve offered to buy your half of the house about a thousand times—”

“—and I said no, so you could have spared yourself about nine hundred and ninety nine of them—”

“—there is no fucking reason for you to want to live in this house—and this is not even your  _country_ —”

“—all my papers are in perfect order, I pay taxes, and there is no reason for  _you_  to be here, you prick—”

“—except that this is  _my_  family’s house—”

“—oh, come on, Ben, you, you—you  _monster_! You don’t give a shit about your family or about anyone _but yourself!_ ”

“ _How would you even fucking know what having a family is like?_ ”

It takes a few moments, for the horrible things he has said—that she has said—that  _they_  have said, to fully register.

Ben turns off the stove and then stands there, half naked in front of the sink, hands clenched into fists and muscles as tight as guitar strings. For some odd reason Rey, who should get the hell out of this room, can’t stop staring at him. At this asshole who just managed to say one of the most life-alteringly painful things Rey has ever heard.

And she’s heard a lot.

She will—he is  _so_ —she is going to—she is going to  _destroy_  him, she's going spit in his orange juice and break his vinyls and—

Except that Ben does something. He presses his lips together, and then he wipes a hand down his face, and all of a sudden it clicks inside Rey's head. That Ben, standing right in front of her. Maybe Ben hates this, all of this, just as much as she does. Maybe he’s human, too.

Maybe Rey’s broccoli really smelled horrible, and she should have put it in a Tupperware. Maybe Rey wouldn’t react well to someone coming to live under her roof, either, especially if she couldn't have a say in the matter, especially if she didn’t know why. And maybe, maybe it's possible that some—very few—Taylor Swift songs can at times be a tiny bit annoying.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. _God._

“I…” She has no idea what to say. She racks her brain and finds nothing, feeling stuck. And then some dam inside her breaks, and the words explode out before she can think them through.

“Luke was my family. Granted, he was really grumpy and a bit annoying most of the time, but he—”  _loved me_ , “was the only home I ever had.” She dares to look at up at Ben, half—fully—expecting a sneer of derision. But he’s staring intently at her, and Rey forces herself to continue before she can change her mind. “And I think he knew that. I think maybe that’s why he left me this house—So that I’d have some kind of… of  _something_ , even after he was gone.”

Her voice breaks on the last word. And maybe now she is crying—not full-on bawling like she does when she watches  _The Lion King_  or the first ten minutes of _Up_ , but quiet, sparse, implacable tears that Rey has no hope of stopping.

“I know you probably see me like some kind of… proletarian usurper who's come to take over your family fortune, and believe me, I can understand that.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, her voice rapidly losing heat. She’s just tired, now. “But you have to understand that while you’re probably living here because you’re trying to prove some point to me, or… or for some sort of pissing contest—I don’t even know why—this pile of bricks means the world to me, and—”

“My grandfather built this house.”

Rey looks up in surprise. Ben is not looking at her. “What?”

“My grandfather. He built this house for his wife. Over half a century ago.”

Whatever Rey expected Ben to say, this isn’t it. In the six months they’ve been living together, she hasn’t heard him mention his family once. She hasn’t heard him mention… anyone, really. Then again, they don’t exact converse over tea.

“Your… Luke’s father?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “My mother’s father.”

“But wasn’t Luke your mother’s twi—Oh.”

No mentions of Luke unless it’s absolutely necessary. Got it.

“We… We were close. He and I. I really don’t…” He clears his throat. “This is not a pile of bricks. Not to me.”

“Oh,” Rey repeats.

_Oh._

She…

Yeah. She didn’t know.

Ben probably didn’t know, either. About Rey and Luke.

What a mess. What an idiot.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For what I said. About your family. I didn’t really mean any of it. I don’t know you at all and…” She trails off, because… because.

Ben hesitates, and then nods stiffly. “I’m sorry, too.”  

They remain there, like that, for long beats. Rey is almost sure that if she goes back her room now, Ben will just order a pizza and she’ll be able to go back to sleep without having to hunt down her stash of earplugs.

She almost just leaves. And then. Then it occurs to her that she could be… better.

“Maybe there could be a… a truce of sorts?”

He lifts one eyebrow.

“A truce.”

“Yeah. I mean… I could… I could stop raising the thermostat to twenty-five degrees as soon as you turn your back. And wear a sweater, instead, when I’m cold.”

“Twenty-five degrees?”

“Oh. Yeah, I think in Celsius. The Fahrenheit scale is ridiculous and to be honest only you Americans…” He’s looking at her with an expression that she can’t quite decipher, so she quickly changes the topic. “And I guess I could start buying my own toilet paper.”

“Could you.”

“Yeah.”

“I should warn you, the toilet paper aisle in the grocery store is full of unexpected challenges.”

“Ben, I’m bloody  _trying_ , here. If you can’t be civil for—” She is ready to storm out of the kitchen when she realizes that he’s actually… smiling. Maybe. With his eyes. This  _dick_. “You know, you’re not as funny as you think.”

He nods, and doesn’t say anything for a moment or two. Then:

“Maybe I could water your plants, when you’re out of town and I notice that they’re about to die.”  

 _Ha!_ She knew he had let her cucumbers die on purpose, she  _knew_  it—

“And maybe I’ll make a sandwich for dinner, if I get hungry past midnight.”

Rey lifts both eyebrows.

Ben rolls his eyes. “Past ten P.M.?”

“Yes. That would be great.”

He crosses his huge arms on his equally huge, still bare chest, and then rocks a bit on his heels.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly, this whole situation feels… weird. Sticky. A verge of some sort. Less than comfortable.

Rey wants to leave.

“I’m gonna…. Have a good night, Ben.”

She doesn’t stop when he says, “Good night, Rey.”

 

…

 

“You are so soft.” His breath is hot into her ear, and Rey shivers, exactly once. “I think I maybe imagined you wouldn’t be, because you’re so strong, but—”

Rey has no idea what is happening. Whatever this is, it obviously needs to stop—except that he lets her go for a fraction of a second to angle her just so— _slightly bent forward, like… God, like he’s about to_ —and it’s as if every single cell in her body revolts at once.

_No._

_Wait._

_Stay._

Ben’s back on her immediately. He begins to undo the zipper of her jeans, the catch of it deafening in the silence of the room, and Rey feels the air rush out of her lungs.

 

…

 

**One year, eight months earlier**

 

“It’s… nice outside, today.”

It is, really nice. Unseasonably warm.

It’s because the Earth is dying, of course. Rey  _could_  say that, but she doesn’t, and the reason is that even through Ben’s clipped, hesitant tone and his perennially lowered gaze, Rey can recognize an olive branch when it bites her in the ass.

Which, right now, it absolutely is.

As it turns out, being on a truce while living together means having significantly fewer shouting matches, but it still doesn’t make finding topics of conversation any easier. Which is fine, most of the time. Often. But on the rare occasions in which their schedules overlap and they end up in the living room or in the kitchen together…

Awkward.

As fuck.

“Yeah. It’s nice. To have good weather.”

Ben nods.

Rey nods, too.

And back to square one: silence.

Rey bites her thumbnail, apparently forgetting that she stopped doing that when she turned fourteen. “Um… I heard that the… the Nationals are doing well, this season.”

She thinks she overheard someone say that. On the bus. A dude, maybe. Probably to another dude.

“Oh. Yeah. Good.” Ben nods.

Rey nods.

Then silence, again.

 _Jesus_   _fucking—_

“What sport is that, again?”

Rey looks up from the coffee she is stirring.

“Mmm?”

“The Nationals. What sport?”

“Ah…” Rey glances around the kitchen, looking for cues. She finds none. “I have no idea.”

Ben dunks a tea bag in his mug. “Me, neither.”

They leave the room from opposite doors, both aware that they just almost smiled at each other.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Her jeans are pooled low around her thighs, and she has never, _never_ felt less in control.

Sex—sex is not like this. Sex is awkwardly pulling off clothes and negotiating positions and hours of foreplay peppered with ‘is this okay?’ and ‘wait, that’s my elbow.’

Sex is not going from zero to a million this way. Not for Rey. It’s not grasping the edge of the sink to stop herself from groaning, or needing to grind herself against something— _anything—_ or feeling her knees weaken when he—

Parts her folds.

With one single finger.

It feels—

“ _Oh_.”

This started seconds ago. Rey cannot _possibly_ be wet. Except that she is, and she can feel it, the slick slide of skin against skin, her cunt beginning to flutter, already. Around nothing.

And Ben—he makes it clear that he likes it.

“You.” He grunts in her ear. “You wouldn’t believe it, the things I’ve thought about doing.”

 

…

 

**One year, four months earlier**

 

He looks like… murder.

That is, more than usual.

He looks like he just had the most terrible day anyone could ever live through. Even worse, he looks like he’s ready to take it out on the first person he’ll find in his path—which, very regrettably, is going to be Rey.

He looks like he needs a distraction.

_Don’t do it, Rey. Don’t do it. You’re gonna regret it._

But Ben is visibly clenching his teeth, and the way he’s going through his mail suggests that he’d like to strangle each and every sender, and he almost ripped the seams of his suit jacket while yanking it off his overbroad shoulders, and—

_Ah. Fuck it._

“Hey.” She waves at him. “So, I ordered way more food than I need.” She resists the urge to cover her discomfort with nervous laughter, because—no. He would smell her fear. “Would you like some?”

He looks at her like she just offered him to go rob a bank together, or to spend the rest of the night moth watching. “What?”

“Take out. It’s Chinese. Want some?”

It takes Ben… an inordinate amount of time, to answer. At least ten seconds of him just staring at Rey suspiciously, perhaps suspecting her to be a deranged murderess on the prowl for roommates to poison. But eventually:

“Sure.” He sounds… everything but sure. Very cautious. Looks cautious, too, as he makes his way to her. He slides his hands in the back pockets of his pants and looks around morosely, and it’s obvious that he has no idea what to do—sit on the couch, the chair, the damn floor; remain standing in the middle of the living room—so Rey takes pity on him and pats a spot next to hers.

It only make sense that they sit close, if she’s going to share her precious food with him.

 _God_. She’s already regretting this.

Ben is so heavy and large that the cushion dips when he sits down, and Rey has to tense her abs and readjust a bit to avoid sliding towards him. She tries to pretend that there’s nothing unusual about any of this—though there _is_ , and they are both aware of it—and hands him a plastic dish and a pair of chopsticks. He accepts them with a stiff nod, his fingers never accidentally touching Rey’s.

“Um… What are you watching?”

“ _The Bachelorette_?” No sign of recognition. “It’s this stupid show. Reality. Really bad reality. Save yourself while you can.”

Surprisingly, Ben stays put. He still looks a bit like he wouldn’t mind trashing the entire house, and maybe even chop off Rey’s limbs should he have some time to spare, but his expression is a little less bloodthirsty.

Progress.

“So, Sheryl, the girl in the green dress—the _only_ girl—has a few weeks to choose a husband among all the blokes.”

Ben squints and studies the telly for a moment; then he frowns. “Based on what? They all look the same.”

“Eh.” Rey shrugs. “They kinda do. But they go on dates. And they talk some. Towards the end they might even have sex.”

“On screen?”

“No. It’s ABC, not HBO.” Rey puts a spring roll on Ben’s plate. “You see the guy wearing glasses he obviously doesn’t need in the vain hope of looking slightly less imbecilic?”

“Blue shirt?”

“Yes. He’s the one we’re rooting for.”

“Is he.”

“Yep. Because he’s from Michigan. And I went to U of M,” she explains, chewing on a green bean.

“Ah.”

“Ever been?”

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Uh… Princeton. Then Harvard Law School.”

“Right.” Rey nods knowingly. “That sounds… cheap.”

Ben has the decency to look a bit sheepish, so Rey takes pity on him. “Want some cashew chicken?”

“Ah... Yes, please.”

“Here. You can finish it, I’ve already eaten about ten pounds of it.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ben Solo. Being polite. Wow.

“… Rey?”

“Yes?”

“You clearly are an intelligent person.”

Is she? “Um. Thanks?”

He nods. “You’re welcome. So, why exactly are you watching this shit?”

Rey smiles. “You’ll see.”

 

…

 

“You said you want to get fucked. Hard and fast.”

She can’t recall saying anything of the sort. She can’t think.

She can’t remember her own name.

 

…

 

**One year, two months earlier**

 

“… _I think our relationship has come a long way, but I am not convinced that it could develop any further…_ ”

“Oh, come on Sheryl!”

“Sheryl, what the hell?”

“ _…at this point, I just know that it’s not gonna work out between us. Can I walk you out?_ ”

Ben shakes his head, horrified. “I cannot believe her.”

“So stupid.”

“What an idiot.”

“She’s gonna regret this so bad.” Rey reaches for her beer. “Pass the breadsticks.”

 

…

 

Behind her, he goes on his knees.

_What is he—_

“Off.” Ben tugs at her jeans and panties until they’re pooling around her ankles, and Rey must have stepped out of them, because they're on the other side of the room now. “Good girl.”

_Did he just say—_

Rey gasps.

He seems to get a little distracted, on his way up. His hand travels along her inner thigh, and long fingers grip the soft skin of her backside.

It occurs to Rey that she is… bare. Completely bare. And that this person, biting into the flesh of her ass, this person is Ben Solo.

_Ben. Solo._

“Ben—”

He spreads her cheeks apart, and his thumb grazes—

“ _Ah—_ Ben, what—”

“Sorry.” Somehow, he manages to sound genuinely apologetic as he licks the skin of her right buttock. “I think about your ass a lot.” He sucks on her flesh before he’s on his feet again, chest pressed against her back. “Mainly under the shower,” he husks in her ear.

One hand tightens sweetly around Rey’s hip.

 

…

 

**Nine months earlier**

 

She steps out of the shower in the exact moment he opens the door, and—

“Ah!”

“What—”

“Aaah!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t—”

Rey almost loses her balance trying to wrap the shower curtain around her. “Can you—hand me that towel over there?”

“Ah—sure. Here you go. I…”

He extends his arm and turns the other way while she wraps the towel— _his_ towel—around herself.

Who uses black towels, anyway? Where does he even buy them? Bloodbath and beyond?

“Rey…?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you in my, ah… bathroom?”

“Sorry. I’m _so_ sorry. My shower isn’t working, and… I think that a pipe on the other side of the house has…. I don’t know, but I called Bob.”

“Bob?”

“The plumber.”

“Oh.”

“I went for a run earlier, and I was all sweaty and smelly, so…”

“I… see.”

“Sorry. You can turn now. I’m decent.”

Ben does. After about ten seconds. He’s… He looks a little flustered.

A lot, actually.

Which is odd. Ben is—probably very used to being with naked women. That is, way more naked than Rey currently is. And way prettier. With breasts, and hips, and the whole shebang. Stuff that Rey barely has.

So maybe he’s just embarrassed for her? Is that why he’s staring at her, while obviously trying his best _not_ to stare at her?

“I’ll go to my room. Get dressed.”

“Right.”

Ben’s still standing right in front of her, though. Blocking the exit. The only exit, if one doesn’t count the window, which Rey briefly considers before acknowledging that it’s not a feasible option. Not in her current state. “You are…” He doesn’t seem to understand where he is. Rey would gesticulate and point it out to him, try to explain. But she has to clutch her towel with both hands to avoid flashing him, and—

“Oh. Oh, right, I…” He takes a large step to the side. Too large a step—he’s basically plastered against the sink now.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me use your bathroom.”

“Um... No problem.”

She should leave now, but— “And I borrowed a bit of your shampoo. Well, stole. It’s not as if I’m ever going to return it. But, you know.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love Old Spice, by the way. Solid choice.”

“Oh.” Ben is clearly looking everywhere but at Rey. “Really? I just grabbed the first one I saw at the store…”

Rey knows in that moment, just _knows_ , that Old Spice is Ben’s favorite brand of personal hygiene products, and that he suffers deeply because of it.

He’s adorable, sometimes.

“Right. Anyway. Thanks again.”

Ben is staring at his feet, now. “You’re welcome.”

 

…

 

He pushes a knee between her legs, until most of her weight is resting on his thigh. The friction—

Rey’s vision blurs around the edges.

 

…

 

**Eight and a half months earlier**

 

It’s Rey’s favorite weather, the incessant hard rain beating a tattoo first on the plastic of her umbrella and then on the wooden roof of the porch. She is smiling when she unlocks the front door, and humming, too, and that must be the reason she doesn’t hear them while she steps into the house, or after folding her umbrella closed, or as she walks down the hall.

They are in kitchen, the two of them.

They are in kitchen and—

_Get out, Rey._

_Get out of this room, immediately, and never come back_. _Buy an insulated lunch bag and a camping stove, shove them in your bedroom, and you can be completely self-sufficient. You’ll never need to step back in here again._

Except that she can’t make herself move. She remains rooted there, worse than a centennial tree, unable to retreat, and the worst part is that Rey is helpless to stop watching, because _her_ hand is on his—

And _his_ hands are on her—well, one is on her upper back, but the other is definitely heading for—

Maybe she gasps, or maybe she makes some other sort of noise, because one moment they are kissing, kissing like people do when it’s leading somewhere, and the next they’re both turning to look at her.

_Fuck._

“I—”

They break apart. Or—Ben takes one step away from the woman, and Rey tries really hard not let her eyes fall to his hands as he—God, is he zipping up his jeans? _God_. The woman, though—well. The woman doesn’t seem particularly unsettled. Or perturbed. Or self conscious about the fact that she’s currently perched on a piece of furniture in a home that is not hers, her lips red and bee-stung and her skirt riding up all the way to…

Somehow, somewhere, Rey finds her voice. “Sorry! Sorry, I was—I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I…” _And she?_

“I thought you’d be…”  Ben’s voice is deeper than usual, and Rey definitely didn’t need to know it, that this is how he sounds when he’s about to… “Out. I thought you’d be out.”

Oh. Right.

She was supposed to go on a date, told Ben as much this morning, except that she canceled because… She didn’t really feel like going on a date.

For some reason.

That is unclear to her.

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I was. But…” She gestures vaguely in the air. Because that’s as good an explanation as she can come up with at the moment.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I…”

Rey should really go to her room. But it’s hard, with Ben staring at her like _that_. Like he…

It’s the first time she finds him with someone in... in a similar situation, and for some reason she’d have thought he’d be blasé about being caught very nearly… Yeah. And yet. Here he is, flushing and nervously scratching the back of his neck, a muscle working over and over in his jaw.

“I’m… I’m gonna go to my room, so you guys can—”

“No need. I—Baz was about to leave.”

Baz?

Ah. _Baz_.

Right. There is a third person, in the room. A very beautiful woman with long black hair who is still sitting on the counter, glancing with captivated interest between Rey and Ben, and…

Baz was definitely _not_ about to leave.

Maybe about to come.

Though she doesn’t miss a beat. “Right. I was just about to go.” Baz and Ben exchange a silent, loaded look that Rey would give two thirds of her already-very-low salary to be able to decipher.

“Oh, you don’t have to leave. I will—”

“By the way, I’m going to introduce myself, since Ben here is clearly not going to.” She hops down with a grace that Rey has only seen in ballet dancers and olympic gymnasts before, and holds out her hand. Notably, it’s _not_ the hand that was working its way past Ben’s waistband when Rey came in. “I’m Bazine. You must be Rey?”

Why this woman who was busy licking her way through Ben’s mouth until a minute ago would know Rey’s name is an absolute mystery. Unless Baz and Ben are very serious, and then Ben would have mentioned his roommate once or twice, and will you look at that, it appears that Rey just cannot bear the thought.

“Yes. Um… Nice to meet you.”

Bazine’s handshake is cool and firm. She smiles briefly, oozing self-assurance, and then turns to pick up her discarded jacket from a stool.

“Well. This was fun. Informative, too. I’ll call you tomorrow, buddy.” She is not very tall, and has to stand on her tiptoes to kiss Ben on the cheek, one hand pressing against his abs for balance. Then there is a friendly wave of her fingers, directed at Rey this time, a cheerful _Goodnight_ , the sound of her heels as she steps on the parquet flooring to make her way to the entrance, and then—

Gone.

That noise was the front door opening and closing, which means that Ben and Rey are alone.

And that…

“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“No, you… _I_ should be sorry. This was… inappropriate. ”

It was. A bit. Maybe. For the kitchen, for sure. Though they still could have continued in Ben’s room. Rey wouldn’t have minded.

Really.

“How did your presentation go?”

Rey looks up from inspecting her fingernails. “Uh?”

“Your presentation, today? At work?”

“Ah.” Right. The one she’s been complaining about to Ben for months. “Very good. Good. Well… Okay. It went okay. Passable.”

“Sounds like it’s getting worse by the word.”

Rey winces. “It was… not my best work.”

“Mmm.”

“But maybe I won’t get fired over it.”

“Maybe?”

“Probably.”

Ben smiles. “Probably?”

Rey smiles back. “Almost certainly. ”

“What a speedy improvement.”

Rey chuckles. “It’s bad news for you, though.”

“Is it?”

“Since I’m trying to save the biosphere. And you’re trying to destroy it.”

“Ah, yes. There is that.”

“Opposite sides, and all that.”

“Mmm.”

“But you probably don’t need to pick up my half of the utilities. Just yet.”  

He is still smiling. “I was mainly concerned about having to buy my own creamer.”

He’s not funny. He’s not _that_ funny. She’s not in love with his weird sense of humor. “What do you use it for, anyway? You don’t even drink coffee.”

Ben doesn’t answer her, but he is _still_ smiling, and there is something warm unfurling in Rey’s chest now.

Which really shouldn’t be there, because…

“Are you and your friend…?”

“My friend?”

“Bazine.”

“Ah.”

Silence. Rey realizes that she hasn’t really asked a question. Has she?

“Is that your…” No. Too direct. “Are you two… dating?”

And what is that pang in her stomach as she contemplates the thought, precisely?

“No. She’s… just… Trying to help. She knows that I…” He wipes his hands down his face, like he always does when he’s overwhelmed, or tired. It’s a gesture Rey is seeing more and more of, lately. Because Ben has been letting her see more and more of _him_.

They’re not all bad, the sharp edges and deep grooves of this man’s personality. Unexpected, for sure. But not bad at all.

“That you?”

“It was an… experiment, of sorts.” Ben shakes his head, as if to say, _never mind_. “I don’t usually… I never…”

Rey’s not sure what he usually doesn’t do, because Ben doesn’t continue, and she is not certain that she wants to probe.

Plus, he’s looking at her in a way she can’t quite understand, and Rey is feeling a little…

Okay. Time to skedaddle.

“I’m gonna go to sleep, okay? I have an early morning, tomorrow.”

Ben nods. “Sure.”

She’s almost out of the room when he calls her. “Rey.”

She pauses, but doesn’t turn around.

“I… Have a good night.”

It doesn’t sound like what he originally meant to say.

“You, too.”

 

…

 

He’s barely inside. Just the tip.

He’s _enormous_.

 

…

 

**Seven months earlier**

 

“I had fun.”

“Good. Thank you. I mean… so did I.”

Poe is nothing if not predictable. He took Rey to the Ethiopian restaurant she told him she’d been wanting to try forever; raised topics of conversation Rey knows enough about to feel comfortable, but not so much that she'd get bored within a few minutes; and now, now that he’s walked her to her door he’s going to lean in and kiss her, just like she could have anticipated when he picked her up exactly three hours earlier.

It is, very predictably, a good kiss. A solid kiss. It could probably lead into good sex, if she decided to invite him inside for a drink. Nice sex. Solid sex. Long-time-no-have sex.

And yet.

She has no intention to. It’s truly been _ages_ , but this thing with Poe is just…

No.

For reasons.

That Rey is not going to acknowledge tonight. Or ever.

It certainly has nothing to do with how long Ben stared at her before Poe pulled up their driveway.

Or with the way he flushed and averted his gaze when she caught him.

Or with his tone when he said, “You look... pretty.”

A little wistful. Almost apologetic.

“I’m gonna…” Rey takes a deep breath, and takes a step back from Poe. “I’m gonna go inside now. But thanks for everything. I had a lovely evening.”

If Poe minds, Rey can’t tell. To his credit, he just smiles at her and retreats to his car, without any ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘See you next time’ that they both know would be nothing more than lies of politeness.

Rey is… surprised, when she finds Ben in the living room, sitting on the couch with a beer in one hand and a stack of papers in another. Or maybe she’s not. It’s a Saturday night. They usually spend their Saturday nights on that very couch, watching the telly or talking about everything and nothing. It makes sense, that he’s here even though she was gone.

For the life for her, she can’t remember why she thought that trying to date again would be a better idea than staying at home in her pajamas and hang out with her roommate.

“What are you reading?”

Ben glances up at her, takes her in—short but not-too-short dress, makeup, loose hair—and then immediately looks back to his papers. “Oh… It’s a guideline document. For work.”

“Your very own oil spill in ten easy steps?”

Ben’s lips quirk upwards. “I think you only need the one. But no, we’re branching out. This is firearms related.”

“Pro or con?”

“What do you think?”

“Mmm. I think I kinda hate you,” she tells him without heat, leaning against the armrest closest to him.

“Of course. Bleeding heart, and all that.” 

Rey chuckles. “Isn’t it soothing, though? The predictability of it.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Without bothering to ask, because… yeah, they’re past that, Rey reaches forward to grab his beer and takes a sip from it. Ben studies her in silence, but doesn’t pick up his papers again. When she lifts one eyebrow— _what?_ —he caves, and asks:

“Is… Isn’t your boyfriend coming in?”

“Who?”

Ben looks towards the entrance.

“Ah—no. Poe’s not… He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not… We’re not…” How to put it? “We haven’t…”

Ben nods, though he cannot possibly have made sense of what Rey just mumbled. And then he says nothing. And then—things are a bit weird, and tense.

“I should go to bed.”

“Okay. Good night.”

It might be that two fuzzy navels were too many, or maybe it’s just that Rey never really got the hang of high heels. The fact remains that she loses her balance just as she’s trying to walk past Ben.

His hands—large and solid and warm even through her dress—they close around her hips until she’s stable again. She’s standing, and he’s sitting down, and like this Rey’s several inches taller than him, and… It’s new to her, seeing him from this perspective. He looks younger, almost softer, and her first drunken instinct is to cup his face, trace the line of his nose, run her thumb over his lower lip—

Thankfully, he lets go of her almost immediately. Before she can do anything moronic and utterly embarrassing. Though their eyes meet and hold for what feels like too long, and—

Rey needs to say something. Anything.

“Are you going to bed, too?”

Ben seems to think about it for a minute. Then he shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Rey… Rey’s not sure she’s sleepy, either.

“Wanna watch Netflix together? We can finish _Glow_. I think we have two episodes left.”

Ben nods, looking… happy, a bit. So Rey takes off her shoes, grabs the remote, and lets herself fall on the couch, right next to him.

A little too close, maybe. Though he never complains.

 

...

 

He bottoms out, somehow, and—it’s just this side of too much.

It would be too much, for sure, but several things help—Ben’s holding Rey to him like letting go would kill him, and his fingers are shaking a little as he pushes her hair away from her brow, and anyway her cunt is _into_ this, its hidden spaces stuffed full, fluttering around—

 _God_. Ben. Ben’s cock.

“I can’t think when you’re around.” His voice is unsteady, almost sweet. Hoarse. “And you’re _always_ around. It’s been a problem. I haven’t formulated a coherent thought inside this house in—”

_Ah._

Just like that, Rey knows it’s over. It’s all over.

“Fuck, Rey. _Fuck_.”

He hasn’t even moved, when she starts coming. Her mind goes blank with pleasure.

 

...

 

**Four months earlier**

 

When Ben arrives home, Rey can barely feel her toes, her teeth are chattering, and she is more blanket than woman.

“What are you—”

“T-t-the heat isn’t working. I already looked into it—I think a fuse has b-blown. I called the guy who fixed it last t-time, he should b-be here in half an hour.”

Ben cocks his head. “You are wearing three sweaters and a Snuggie. Why are your lips blue?”

“Because—It’s freezing. And I can’t get warm.”

“Come on. It’s not _that_ cold.”

“I am gonna _d-die_.”

“Are you.”

“Of hypothermia.”

“Would you like to borrow my baby seal fur coat?”

Rey hesitates. “Do you really have one?”

“Would you want it if I did?”

“I don’t know. I’m honestly scared to find out.”

Ben shakes his head and sits next to her on the couch. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

“No. Why? Are you planning to steal my seat? Back off. It took me _ages_ to warm it up—”

She should have seen it coming, since he doesn’t exactly hide his intentions as he picks her up and lifts her across his lap, until her ass is resting on one of his thighs.

This is… new.

For a moment, Rey’s spine stiffens and her muscles tense in surprise. But it’s a very brief moment—he is so deliciously toasty, way cozier than her stupid spot on the couch, and his skin… it smells _so_ good.

It’s not worth the fight, really.

“You’re so warm.” Rey lets her head fall against his cheek. “It’s like you generate heat.”

“I think all humans do.” Ben’s nose touches the icy tip of Rey’s ear. “It’s physics. Or something.”

“First law of thermodynamics. Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.”

Ben's hand travels up her spine and cups her nape, and it’s as if the temperature is suddenly five degrees higher. Heat licks down her spine and spreads around Rey’s torso. In her belly.

“Except by you, apparently.”

“Mmm. It’s so unfair.”

Ben’s thumb is tracing patterns on the skin of her throat, and Rey has to sigh. She is _glowing_ now.

“That you are where the heat goes to die?”

“Yeah. That.” She burrows a little more into his chest. “Maybe my parents were sharks. Of the cold-blooded, poikilothermic variety. That’s why they abandoned me, because they had no thermoregulation skills whatsoever and couldn’t live on dry land.”

“Mmm. It’s the only possible explanation.” Ben’s breath chuffs against Rey’s temples, a fine, pleasant itch.

“For my pathological inability to maintain thermal homeostasis?”

“For anyone deciding to abandon you.” It seems as if Ben is suddenly holding her a little tighter. A little closer. “Also, for how rare you like your steak.”

“I... Medium rare.” Rey’s voice is shaking a bit. She tells herself that it’s because of the cold, and not what he just said.

“Please. Basically raw.”

“Mmm.” No point in arguing with him, not when he’s right. Not when his hand is running up and down her arm; a warming, calming gesture, even through her clothes. “Do you think he’ll be able to fix the fuse within tonight?”

“I hope so. If not, I’ll just run to the store and get you a heater.”

“You would do that?”

Ben shrugs. There are about ten layers between them (Ben vastly underestimated the number of sweatshirts Rey can put on at once) but she can still feel how present and solid he is. Years ago, she used to think he was cold, in every possible way. Back when she used to believe that she hated him. “To be clear, I’d only do it because it feels like less work than driving you to the ER to get treatment for frostbite.” She can feel it, the way his cheek is curving. Right against her brow.

“You’re not as heartless as you think, Ben.”

“I’m not as heartless as _you_ think.”

Rey laughs. “Maybe.” She leans back to take a look at him, because it feels like Ben might be smiling, really smiling now, and that’s a rare and wondrous phenomenon that she wants to savor. He’s not, though. He’s staring at her, too, studying her in that weighty, serious way he sometimes has. First her eyes, and then her lips, and what is _this_ , this moment of heavy, full silence that for some reason has Rey’s heart race and her skin tingle?  

“Rey.” Ben’s throat moves as he swallows. “Rey, I—”

They both startle at the loud knocking sound.

“The electrician.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Rey’s voice is simultaneously shrill and breathless. _Wonderful_.

“I’m gonna go get the door, okay?”

_Please don’t. Stay._

“Okay.”

“Do you think you can avoid going into hypothermia if I let go of you?”

“Yes. Probably.” _No._ “Maybe?”

He rolls his eyes in that put-upon way that reminds Rey so much of Luke. But his smile, the one she was looking for earlier—here it is. Finally.

“Very well, then.” Without letting go of her, he stands to go open the door and carries her all the way to the entrance.

Rey hides her face into his neck, humming with warmth and something else, unfamiliar and unidentifiable.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Did you just—?” Pained. Ben sounds like he’s in pain. “Did you really come, just from me—”

Nerve endings still tingling, Rey shuts her eyes tight and nods her embarrassment.

Ben’s teeth close around the fleshy part of her shoulder, and he grunts like an animal.

 

…

 

**Two weeks earlier**

 

Rey has a beer, telling herself at each sip that everything is going to be fine. When that doesn't work, she walks to the fridge, spends five solid minutes looking for another—turns out they only have lager left, but she'll make do—and then plops down on the couch to call Rose.

“They say they might even shut down our division.”

“I know." Rose's voice sounds a little scratchy. Like maybe she wasn't asleep yet, but getting ready to be. Still, if she minds having to talk Rey through an anxiety attack at eleven twenty-six P.M. on a Friday night, she doesn't let it show. "Finn mentioned as much.”

“It’s terrifying.”

“I know.”

“We wouldn't lose our jobs, I don't think. But at the very least they’d break apart the team. Finn and I wouldn’t be working together anymore, for sure.” They have been inseparable since grad school, and the prospect is nerve-wracking. 

There is some noise on the other side of line, maybe Rose adjusting her phone. “Don’t worry. You’ll still see him all the time. I’ll send him over every couple of days, when I can’t stand him anymore.”

Rey laughs, because Rose really would. “Please, do.”

“Things are weird now. But they will get better soon,” Rose tells her, reassuringly.

“I hope they will.” Rey holds her phone to her ear and leans back against the armrest.

"They will. I know they will."

 _Be positive_ , Luke used to tell Rey. _Negativity is for old farts like me._ “Maybe I'm worrying for nothing. Maybe they’ll leave the division alone.”

“It's a possibility.”

“Also, maybe I’ll be randomly selected for a lifetime supply of Nutella.”

Rose giggles. “And maybe the surrealist slam poem I wrote will win me the Nobel prize for literature.”

“Maybe the dude at Starbucks will learn to spell my name with an _e_.”

“Maybe my cactus will actually bloom, this year.”

“Maybe they’ll start producing Sour Patch Kids ice cream.”

“Maybe Firefly will get the final season it deserves.”

“Maybe Ben will come home from his business trip and bend me over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck me hard and fast.”

Rose _hoots_. “Wow! Someone’s drunker than I thought...”

“You’re right. The last one is absolutely preposterous.”

“Nah. Well, no more than my slam poem. How goes the unrequited crush?”

“It’s not a crush.” Plenty unrequited, though.

“I thought we had finally agreed that it is, in fact, a crush?”

From the other side of the line, Finn’s voice mumbling  _‘It’s totally a crush!’_ is clearly audible.

Rey huffs. “Fine. Good. Barely there. I don’t _really_ fantasize about having sex with him that often.” Liar. What a liar. “It’s still in the larval stage.” It’s hitting its teenage years and strong as an ox, but anyway. “I think that some distance will be good. I told Ben that Kaydel and I are looking for a place together, something closer to downtown. Now that I’m mostly done repaying my loans.” _Sorry, Luke. But it has to happen._

“What did Ben say?”

“Nothing, much.” He’d just nodded, a little stiffly. It had been a bit of an awkward conversation. They still have those, occasionally. “I think… I think it’ll go away. The crush.”

“Right.”

“Very soon.”

“I’m sure.”

“I just need him to never find out.”

“Mmm.”

“Because it would make things weird for us. For him.”

“Yeah.”

“And he doesn’t deserve it.”

“No.”

“He’s a decent guy. He’s… a good friend. Also, I think he’s this close to leaving his job. I want to be supportive.”

“Ah.”

“And I like hanging out with him.”

“Is that so.”

“So I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“Nope.”

“Anyway. We should talk about something else.”

“Okay.”

“Like. Literally anything else.”

“Fine.”

“You should propose a topic.”

“Why me?”

“Because.”

Rose sighs heavily. “Mmm… 'kay. Can I tell you a story?”

“Yep.”

“It’s about my friend.”

“Which friend?”

“Ah… Kira.”

“Kira?”

“Kira.”

“Oh. I don’t think I know her. I thought I'd met all your friends?”

“It’s okay. So, a couple of years ago my friend Kira moved in with this guy, um… Kyle. And initially they really hated each other, but then they figured out that they were more similar than they thought, and she started talking about him more and more, and in an increasingly positive light, and then she began making excuses to hang out less with us so that she could stay home with him. So Finn and I—by the way, Finn knows her, too—well, we were like, ’Jeez, is she falling for this dude?’ And then one night my friend confessed to me that she had very filthy, very elaborate-sounding fantasies about Kyle bending her over the kitchen table and—”

“Bye, Rose.”

“Wait, you haven’t heard the ending! He—”

“You’re a shit friend and I’m not sure why I love you.” Rey hangs up, laughing despite herself.

Ultimately, it’s Rey’s fault. When Rose first started developing her _thing_ for Finn, Rey shouldn’t have been so supportive. She should have teased her friend mercilessly and made up fake stories about fake people, and now Rose would know, how it feels to be—

“Rey.”

She startles and sits up until she can look over the back the couch. Ben is standing in the entrance of the living room, duffel bag in one hand, looking tired and handsome and tall and—

What— _why_ is he here?

“Ben?”

“Hi.”

“When… When did you get here?”

“Just now.”

“Oh. How was your… how was your trip?”

“Good. Okay.”

“Oh. Good.”

He just got here, he said. He can’t have possibly overheard her. Rey is certain that she didn’t say anything compromising in the past few minutes, and her phone was not on speaker. So.

Why is he staring at her like that?

“Are you… Are you exhausted?”

He shakes his head. “It was just two days.”

He cut his hair, a couple of weeks ago. Not too short, but shorter than it ever was. Sometimes—often—she’ll see him in a certain light, or she’ll catch him make one those faces that Rey is sure he doesn’t let anyone outside this house see, and her breath will hitch from the wonder of it.

“Are you hungry? I made a stir fry. There’s leftovers.”

He studies her, and says nothing.

“No carrots. I promise.”

He stares at Rey for a little longer, silent. Rey is about to ask him if something’s wrong, when: “I’m not hungry. But thanks.”

“Okay.” Looking for something to do with herself, she stands and walks around the couch. Leans against the doorjamb, a few feet away from him. “It was… lonely. Without you around.”

“It was just two days,” he repeats. A little unreadable, his expression today.

“I know. But I don’t think I like living alone.” Ben doesn’t look like he’s going to answer anything to that, so Rey adds, “Kaydel and I might have found a place. To rent.”

Silence. And a long, thoughtful stare.

“I meant to ask you… We haven’t discussed this in a while, but you’d still be interested in buying my half of the house. Right?”

For a couple of heartbeats, Ben's gaze drifts to the living room. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ben, you’ve been offering to buy me out for a million years.”

His mouth quirks. “A million years ago the house didn’t exist and this place was a swamp, but it’s not as if you’re an environmental scientist and could possibly know—”

“Oh, shut up. All I’m saying is, for a long time.”

What’s with all the long pauses, tonight?

“No. I don’t think I want to.”

“Why? Oh my god, are you broke?" Rey leans forward. "Is it the stock market? Have you gambled away all your money? Have you bet the entirety of your savings on the US winning the World Cup and only belatedly realized that they didn’t even qualify? Have you become involved in a LuLaRoe pyramid scheme and can’t stop buying new leggings—”

“Rey. Are you drunk?”

“No. Well, I had two beers. Maybe a little. Why?”

“You’re annoying, when you’re drunk.” There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“Well, you’re annoying all the time.”

Ben’s smile widens a little, and he looks down at his feet. Just for a moment. Then:

“Goodnight, Rey.”

He picks up his duffel bag and heads for his room, and the yellow light of the lamp casts a warm, golden glow over his hair and the breadth of his shoulders.

“By the way,” Rey calls after him. “I bought new creamer. It’s cinnamon. You’ll hate it!”

He doesn’t pause on his way out.

 

…

 

**Present Time**

 

Rey can feel his control erode.

“Can I take you to bed?”

His tone is unlike anything she’s ever heard from him, pleading and a little raw. His cock—it’s twitching inside her, and every few seconds or so he seems to lose whatever grip he has on himself and rolls his hips.

It doesn’t help her focus. Or his focus. Their focus.

Because this should stop right now. It’s been good— _it has just redefined sex for you, Rey_ —but it doesn’t make sense, that Ben would want to do this with her, and Rey doesn’t do this, this… this impromptu fucking that can’t possibly mean anything to him but has a lot of heartbreak in store for her, and—

“Please.” He’s licking away the sting of his earlier bite. “I’ll try to keep it fast, but please, let me take you to bed.”

She’s come once, already. Just from him sliding into her and stretching her too tight, and the feel of his hands clutching her hip bones— _a small miracle in and of itself because it usually takes her because she never ever_ —and if he takes her to bed now he’s going to wreck her. In each and every possible way. He’s going to—

“Please.”

Rey nods, dazedly. Whatever he wants—he can have.

It’s not pretty, when he pulls out. He gasps a breath of pure frustration and it’s clear, that he hates it. Rey hates it too—and _she_ is the one who had that life-altering orgasm, seconds ago. Ben’s the one who gave it to her, and took very little for himself—which, after over two years of acquaintance and who knows how many months of poorly pretending to not be completely _gone_ for him, doesn’t even come as a surprise.

He takes her top and bra off and Rey, stupid with the aftershocks of pleasure, she stands there and lets him, lets him stare his fill with his dark, unreadable eyes even though she’s completely naked and she knows that her hips are too narrow and her breasts too small and she has freckles in all the wrong places and—

“Come here. Rey, I—Fuck. Come here.” His jaw is tense as he picks her up and carries her to his room. She has never been in here—why would she have—and yet she knows this place, she knows it because she knows _him_. The dark colors, and the framed pictures of semi-hostile nature that he must have taken during the trips he told her about— _she knew he didn’t really hate nature_ —and the sparse furniture. The stack of books on his bedside table.

His reading glasses, the ones Rey likes to tease him about, are unfolded in the middle of his desk.

He doesn’t give her the time to study her surroundings. Rey feels the mattress bounce underneath her back, and then he’s taking up her entire field of view.

“Can I kiss you?”

His mouth is already hovering a few inches above hers, so she just presses her hands down his nape and arches into him, kissing him herself.

It’s slow, and warm, and achingly careful. He was fucking her, a minute ago. He was so deep inside her that she felt deliciously split in two. But know there’s this gentle sliding of lips and tongues, Ben nibbling on her and holding first her chin and then the back of her head, and—

Rey has no idea, when in the past two years she fell so ruinously in love with him. But it’s in this moment that she _knows_.

“I love kissing you.” She practically sighs it in his mouth.

“God. Me too, Rey.” His lips. His voice. “I want to kiss you forever. Everywhere.” He moves back, as if something occurred to him just then. “Can I go down on you?”

She feels her cheeks heat, because, does he—does he really want to?

“I…”

“Just for a minute.”

Incredible, how he’s waiting for her answer. He just bent her over the kitchen sink and slid into her and practically forced her to come on his cock, but he’s asking for permission to _kiss_ her, to go _down_ on her like she’d be doing him a favor, and it doesn’t make any sense—

“Thirty seconds. Please.”

“If… If you’re sure that you— _Oh._ ”

He’s very good at it. Not… Maybe not deftly skilled, but he is completely _lost_ to it, so thorough, so noisy in his utter, amazed enjoyment of the act, of _Rey_. Her hips arch and he has to hold her down, carry her through the pleasure.

It lasts more than thirty seconds. It lasts more than three minutes, maybe more than ten—but her thighs are trembling and her cunt spasms and she starts to come like an ocean wave, and when she thinks the pleasure is finally subsiding he slides his fingers, thumb and index, inside both her holes, and—her hips buck up, because it’s not _over_.   

She has officially had more orgasms in the past twenty minutes than in the last year.

Fingers still inside her, he looks up, eyes soft and earnest and swallowed by his pupils. “Thank you.”

_Oh._

She clears her throat, but her voice remains scratchy. “I think… Maybe I should be the one thanking you.”

He shakes his head, lifts himself over her on one arm, pumping himself with the other as he stares down at her with an awestruck expression.

“You’re so good, Rey. This is so good. Why do you want it to be fast?” He leans forward to kiss her again, licking the inside of her mouth. “I just want to make it last forever,” he rasps in her ear.

She has no idea what he’s referring to. She never said it, that she wants this to be fast. She never said it, but he keeps telling her that—

 _Except_. Except that… Yeah. She did say it. She— _shit_ , she did say it, but she didn’t say it to _him_ , and—

“You heard me.”

He is too preoccupied to listen. Licking one of her nipples—doing a _fantastic_ job of it.

“You heard me.” She twines her fingers in his hair, trying to slow him down. “On the phone, with Rose.”

Ben stops, but doesn’t lift his head. His breath, warm against her breast, makes Rey shiver.

“… Who is Rose, again?”

“You heard me. You heard me tell her about...”

He looks up, more beautiful than ever.  

“I can do it, Rey. I can do it for you. What you want.”

“I don’t—” She pushes him away, but he barely budges. This is _mortifying_. “I don’t need a pity fuck. I am perfectly capable of—”

He takes her palm and drags it down his chest, and then past his abdomen until his dick is hot her hand. He is—massive, and almost automatically her fingers close around him. Ben grimaces, biting his lower lip, and Rey has the sudden realization that he’s been touching her in all sorts of manners, but she hasn’t touched him, not at all, and it seems sad and unfair and unbearably stupid. Something to remedy.

He exhales a breath. “Does this feel like I’m giving you a pity fuck?”

_No. No, it definitely does not, but—_

“I don’t know.”

Of its own free will, Rey’s hand starts moving up and down his length—simple strokes that have Ben gasp and close his eyes shut. His lips part as Rey circles around the damp head with her thumb, and his arm, the one he’s leaning on, is shaking. Visibly.

“Come on, Rey.” His hips are thrusting, now. In and out of her fist. He’s getting closer. Close to _something_. “You must know.”

 _Must know—?_ “Know what?”

“How hard it’s been, to— _ah, fuck_ —to keep my hands off you. How much I’ve wanted this, almost since the very beginning.”

God.

_God._

His eyes are glazed, muscles taut, and he is on the verge of coming, that much is obvious. So obvious that Rey is shocked, when his fingers wrap around her wrist and stop her movements.

“Please, let me fuck you. Let me give you what you need. Let me try, at least.” He kisses a spot under her jaw. "Hard and fast." 

She is not about to tell him _no_. She is not about to tell herself _no_. Both their lives have been full of _no_ s, but maybe here, together, things can turn around for the two them.

Rey smiles at him and pulls him on top of her, arms twined around his neck as she silently mouths against the flesh of his shoulder how much she likes him, how much sheloves this, and Ben adjusts them and angles himself until he’s—blissfully—almost there, almost inside her again, hot and wet and—

_Shit._

“Condom! We need—do you—”

Ben groans. And he wasn’t quite inside yet, but his huge cock was pressing against her and now it’s not and this is… unpleasant. Not a delay she wanted. Definitely now one _he_ wanted.

“Fuck. I don’t—Rey.” His biceps are shaking, fingers white as they fist in the sheets. Then he takes a deep breath and shifts, rearranging until he can slide one finger— _two_ —deep inside her, curling them upwards so that he is thrumming exactly against—

“What are you—” God, this feels _insanely_ good.

“I don’t have any condoms.” His words are a bit slurred. “I’m just going to make you come like this and then get myself off.”

The worst part is—he sounds like he’s doing the single hardest thing he’s ever been asked for in his life, and yet it’s clear that he’s absolutely fine with it. Which—

No. No, no, no, no.

_No._

“Are you— _Ah_. Ben, are you clean?”

His thumb touches Rey’s clit, who moans.

“I have no idea.”

How does he not know if he—

Suddenly, a sense of panic washes over her, that he just—that he’s just trying to get laid. That he does this all the time. Maybe he had other plans for the night, and they fell through, and God forbid that he doesn’t get his daily fuck, and—is this even possible? Could Ben... Would he do something like this?

She reaches down to hold his forearm still. Problem is, he can still curve his fingers. He can still—

“How… Have you been tested, since the last time you…?”

Rey braces for all sorts of horrifying answers, that range from _Why, of course not, my last one night stand was yesterday,_ to _What do you mean, tested?_ to _, Everyone has HPV, anyway._

“Maybe. Yeah, I have yearly physicals for work. I—Rey, it doesn’t matter.” He kisses her on the cheek, and a clever twist of his wrist makes her brain go blank. “I think I can make you come with my fingers. That’s safe. And you don’t have to be around later, when I—”

Yearly physicals? _Plural?_

“When was the last time you had sex? Can you— _ah_ , please, _please_ stop that.”

“I have no idea.” Ben seems to get the message, and pulls his fingers out of her. For a second, the friction feels… distracting. Then her cunt clenches in protest. “I don’t have sex, Rey.”

“You—what?”

He looks away. They are both breathing too hard. “I don’t _like_ sex.”

Rey looks down, and—He is _so_ hard. His cock is _so_ heavy on her thigh. There is pre-come, on her skin. A lot of it.

“You seem to… um, you seem to like it fine.”

“Yeah—No. In general, I don’t really… It’s just…” His cheekbones are beet red. “I like _you_ very much, Rey.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t need to—I’m enjoying this—” he grimaces, as if appalled by the understatement, “—maybe too much, since I almost came… a number of times, just by being near you, so I’ll be more than fine if you just let me take care of you and—”

_No._

Rey pushes at his shoulder, his chest, and then keeps pushing through his first resigned, then confused, then shocked expression. He lets her do whatever she wants, and once his back is on the mattress she straddles his hips.

He groans. “What are you—”

She leans over, and whispers in his ear, “Hard and fast, Ben.”

There is a long moment in which Ben just looks up at Rey, disoriented, and then—then he must notice, that her cunt and his dick are perfectly lined up, that she’s working— _so large this way_ —to take him inside, that she’s moving now, balancing on his chest and up and down and up again, until a few minutes later, on the downstroke, he’s almost completely wedged inside her.

The angle—it’s so deep, Rey’s vision spots. Ben’s grip digs almost painfully around her hips.

“Rey.” He is panting. “I’m not going to be able to pull out.”

“It’s fine.” It’s _perfect_. “Just do what feels good.”

Everything does, anyway. The slide of flesh, the wet friction—even within the mess of their movements, as he slips out and has to nudge himself back in over and over, this feels like perfection. The way he stares at her face, her breasts, the rise and fall of her hips, looking _stunned_ ; the wet, filthy sounds of them moving together; the things he says to her about how beautiful she is, how precious, about all the times he has imagined doing this—and there are _so many_.

Rey feels her pulse spike.

“I think—” He grunts against her throat. “I think I’m going to come. Now.”

Rey nods, too close to speak, and lets him roll them over.

 

…

 

“That was certainly fast.” Ben’s tone is mostly self-deprecating.

“Yep.” Delicious. It was delicious.

“I… I can do better. I think. Maybe. With practice.”

Rey’s not even sure the pleasure is over, for her. Her nerve endings are still twitching, and she’s already laughing.

_Amazing._

“It wasn’t _that_ fast.”

Ben buries his face in her neck. Because—

Yeah. It was fast.

“I mean. It wasn’t too fast. It was…” Extraordinary. Spectacular. Transcendent. “Good. Very good.”

Ben presses a kiss into her throat.

“But—It wasn’t that _hard_ , either.”

“Oh.” He tenses. “I’m sorry, I haven’t—”

“That is to say—we should… we should do it again.” Ben pulls back to meet her eyes. He looks very, very serious. Rey is feeling considerably less so. “And again. And again. Until we get it right. Perfectly hard, and perfectly fast. You know?”

“Yeah?” Hopeful like this, he looks ten years younger.

Rey smiles and pulls him in for a kiss. “Yeah.”

 

…

 

**Six months later**

 

“Who puts creamer in their tea, anyway?”

“People.”

“No way.”

“Plenty of people.”

“Name one.”

“Me.”

Rey rolls her eyes. “Name two.”

"..."

“See?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. How would I know? Normal people don’t have conversations about coffee creamer.”

“You and I certainly do. Hazelnut or Vanilla?”

“Vanilla.”

Rey puts two bottles in the cart. Then she goes on her tippy toes and plants a kiss on his mouth, short and hard. Ben follows her for a bit when she steps back, as if reluctant to let her go.

“Okay.” Rey is smiling. “What else?”

Ben browses the list Rey wrote earlier in the morning while sitting between his thighs—he was busy doing the crossword puzzle in his favorite armchair.

“I think we’re done.”

“No toilet paper?”

“No toilet paper.”

“Okay, then.” Rey lets her hand fall to her side, until it’s brushing against Ben’s. When he starts pushing the shopping cart, she twines their fingers together. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the prompt I received from LoveofEscapism:
> 
> _I think I would like them being roommates and they both secretly love each other, then Kylo finds a list of sexual fantasies that Rey writes down and she comes home and he tries to play one out, at first she doesn’t realise what he’s doing, then it hits her and she’s embarrassed, then she goes along with it, they fuck and it ends with him saying, same time tomorrow?_
> 
> This was an awesome prompt to receive and to engage with. I had a lot of fun writing this ficlet: thank you so much for the opportunity! ♡♡♡
> 
> PS: the title comes from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIft-t-MQuE). Ben would hate it.
> 
> ETA: check out this [amazing aesthetic](http://n1ff1n.tumblr.com/post/178557779799/fanfiction-aesthetics-you-should-see-the-things) that n1ff1n made!!
> 
> You can find me [on Twitter! 💕](https://twitter.com/EverSoReylo)


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